Daxter_87
If my name is crossed out, hopefully I'm dead.
- May 28, 2023
- 400
I am stuck in the middle of nowhere, an inhabited, lifeless wasteland, owned by nobody, the ruins of a collapsed civilization of the past. The ground I walk on feels painfully sharp, like broken glass under my feet. The wind, fierce and implacable, blows away whatever is left of my dignity, and in doing so, it leaves me with nothing other than my bare, dirty skin.
My every breath is a wearisome chore; my every action, a reflection of futility; my every heartbeat, a blatant assault on my will, as it keeps me from achieving my most cherished dream – my total and irreversible self-annihilation.
The desert I have been thrown into suits me like no other place does, since a pariah of my kind belongs nowhere else – outcasts find me too awkward, rebels deem me too radical, and criminals consider me too evil. All I am therefore left with is a devastating desolation that sucks every last bit of humanity out of my soul.
"And what crime have you committed to be sentenced to such a solitary exile?", you may ask. And my answer is none. I have perpetrated no atrocity, rather I am the victim of it – a victim of reproduction. Those who are today my caregivers were yesterday the ones responsible for my birth. Now I can do nothing but wait for redemption from my life sentence, which I will only ever find in death – oh, the sweet release of death!
My every breath is a wearisome chore; my every action, a reflection of futility; my every heartbeat, a blatant assault on my will, as it keeps me from achieving my most cherished dream – my total and irreversible self-annihilation.
The desert I have been thrown into suits me like no other place does, since a pariah of my kind belongs nowhere else – outcasts find me too awkward, rebels deem me too radical, and criminals consider me too evil. All I am therefore left with is a devastating desolation that sucks every last bit of humanity out of my soul.
"And what crime have you committed to be sentenced to such a solitary exile?", you may ask. And my answer is none. I have perpetrated no atrocity, rather I am the victim of it – a victim of reproduction. Those who are today my caregivers were yesterday the ones responsible for my birth. Now I can do nothing but wait for redemption from my life sentence, which I will only ever find in death – oh, the sweet release of death!
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